He let her lead him down the hall. When they stopped outside her door, she turned, reached up, and kissed him. Her lips were warm and soft, her kiss slow and lingering, her fingers curled into his hair. It made his insides do a jig and his cock stir from its slumber.
It was the first timeshehad kissedhimon the mouth. Lisbeth was initiating this intimacy. He sensed her need to be in command of what was to happen. The idea appealed to him, excited him, but he worried about his own control. He had to tread carefully here.
When she broke the kiss and let her hands drop, he felt bereft. He instantly tried to gather her back into his arms, but she had opened her door and walked in. He followed. He looked around briefly.
“The room is a little stark, isn’t it?” she said. Her face was sad. He hated seeing her sad.
“It isn’t so bad. It is most annoying to bump into a veritable obstacle course of furniture on the way to one’s bed. Don’t you agree?”
“Such a layout would be troublesome, I’m sure.”
“Fraught with all sorts of dangers,” he said, his voice lowering to a husky whisper.
She smiled, placing her small hands on his chest and moving them over his jacket. Her questing fingers found the buttons and set to work freeing them. He remembered another time when her hands had been busy at his buttons.
“What? Why are you smirking?” she asked.
“I am hoping you are not simply going to attempt to correct the slowness of my timepiece.”
She gave a little laugh, obviously remembering the scene in the parlor on their first night. “I have come to learn that neither time nor you, Lord Bellamy, like to be constrained.”
“Time flies when one is having fun. Who am I to clip its wings?”
She nodded. “Sometimes time is your friend and sometimes it’s not. In my case I had to learn to use it for protection. I know you don’t understand, and I don’t want to talk about it right now.” Her nimble fingers made short work of his jacket and waistcoat. Peeling each item off his body she placed them on top of the chair by the fire with infinite care. She watched him through her thick lashes as she undid his cravat and placed it on top of his other clothes.
He found he couldn’t move. Like a dream, he seemed to be observing his own seduction, and it was fascinating. Not wanting it to end he decided to do nothing she didn’t direct him to do. He thought it might be difficult but when she started to kiss his neck, his shoulder, his breastbone where his shirt lay open, herealized it may be impossible to give her what she wanted. A man was just blood, bone, and randy flesh, after all.
Every muscle in his body was fighting not to take her in his arms and crush her against him, rip her clothes from her body, and ravish her within an inch of her life. He also knew such an act would not do, not for this woman.
Not for his woman.
His eyes widened in recognition of his thoughts. The fact that she had her fingers down there, in the midst of chaos, so to speak, wasn’t helping. He wanted to stop her, still her fingers, but she brushed them so softly over him through the fall of his pantaloons that his head fell back in abandon with a groan.
He recited his catechism—Lord forgive him for the bits he simply made up. Eventually he could stand no more of her torture, as sweet as it was. He stilled her hand.
“Lisbeth,” he warned.
It did not deter her, despite the fact that her name came out more as a growl. She simply moved on. He felt with agonizing clarity the rest of his clothing leave his body, scraping and grazing over sensitive nerves and skin. He kicked off his shoes, thankful that boots were not attire worn to the theater.
He now stood before her naked and proudly erect. The need to be one with her was infinitely more powerful than he had expected. He was hard and throbbing, just for her. He wanted to say things to her, lover’s words, but he didn’t want to scare her off. As confident as her actions appeared he knew how much this cost her. Was she doing all this for him, so he wouldn’t have to be noble?Sweet, sweet Lisbeth.He cupped her cheeks and kissed her softly and with everything he had to give.
He lifted his head and looked at her. She took a step back and looked over him with those amazing eyes of hers. Had she felt it too? That rush of feeling, of one’s heart filling with infinite hope and joy.
Her expression was changing to… alarm.
Apparently not hope and joy then.
Her expression was dismayed, like she couldn’t believe they were doing this. She looked down at him, looked directly atit, standing so proudly before her, and… giggled.
Giggled! Now it was his turn to look horrified. What the hell? Everything looked in order to him, quite impressively in order, actually. Perhaps that was the problem. He frowned and shoved both legs back into his pants in record time. He should have known it was too soon for her.
“No, please!” She grabbed his wrist, and he left his pants unbuttoned. “I’m sorry. I’m… I’m just so nervous,” she said, her face blushing a furious red.
“You giggled at my—”
“I didn’t! I mean I wasn’t gigglingatit.” She tried to pull him towards her. “It’s lovely, really.”
“Lovely? Lovely! I don’t think so. Your breasts are lovely, your hair is lovely, and your eyes are particularly lovely. This,” he pointed at it shaking his head, “is not lovely!”
